


glimmer

by toshiko sato (alineppenhallow)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Discussed Sexual/Physical Assault On Woman But Nothing Happens In The Chapter [Third Chapter], Everybody Lives, Existential Angst, F/M, Fist Fights, Future Fic, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Violence, Oblivious/In Denial Owen, Post-Canon Fix-It, Protectiveness, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alineppenhallow/pseuds/toshiko%20sato
Summary: Waking up was an odd moment.Ianto’s demise had been pretty final and death hadn’t exactly been pleasant so it seemed a little anti-climatic to take a long slow breath in and realise that he was, in fact,alive.Especially after the dramatics involved. Tears shed, final declarations given...honestly Ianto was feeling a little cheated, maybe -- no, definitely peeved. He wasn’t one for big spectacles of emotion and frankly it seemed to lessen his final words if they weren’t in fact just that,final.So yes, alive and a little miffed if he was being honest. Not ungrateful mind you just put out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i started this wee thing last year and well i'm fond of it...
> 
> it is the ultimate fix-it fic that will include the audio drama's at the very least...cause i also have the comics...and all the books...we'll see how it goes. wish i could say this would be updated on the regular like but honestly i dunno. i love torchwood and i loved writing this. 
> 
> title is inspired by owen's speech in 'a day in the death'
> 
>  
> 
> _You've got a choice. If you think that the darkness is too much then go for it. But if there is a chance, just some hope... It could be having a cigarette, or that first sip of hot tea on a cold morning. Or it could be your mates. If there is even a tiny glimmer of light, then don't you think that's worth taking a chance?_

Waking up was an odd moment. 

Ianto’s demise had been pretty final and death hadn’t exactly been pleasant so it seemed a little anti-climatic to take a long slow breath in and realise that he was, in fact,  **alive** . 

Especially after the dramatics involved. Tears shed, final declarations given...honestly Ianto was feeling a little cheated, maybe -- no,  **definitely** peeved. He wasn’t one for big spectacles of emotion and frankly it seemed to lessen his final words if they weren’t in fact just that,  **final** . 

So yes, alive and a little miffed if he was being honest. Not ungrateful mind you just put out. 

The next point, of course, was how? How was he alive? Did they bluff? 

No...no, without a doubt he’d definitely died. That was no simple loss of consciousness. Jack had spoken enough about his  _ ‘deaths’ _ , however impermanent, that Ianto knew enough about the end of life to be completely sure that he had in fact  _ died _ . 

So perhaps suspended animation, cryogenics...cloning? Likely but again, how and, perhaps more importantly, why? Why him? What was the purpose? Because this wasn’t a human modus operandi and if the organisation or people involved in his resurrection where looking for information or knowledge than frankly...well they picked a good one but they’d have been better bringing Tosh back from the grave. Oh sure Ianto knew everything about Torchwood and had a knack for some things but Tosh was the genius of the enterprise and really she’d be his first choice not, as many viewed him, the tea boy. 

Underestimated? Yes he was but frankly he rather preferred it. It made his job infinitely easier to gather information if people didn’t think he was in a position to use it or was anything more than another suit around the water cooler. He could count on one hand the number of people who knew better than to underestimate him and none of them had the capability or technology on hand to bring him back from the grave. 

It left really only one option and really he wasn’t at all surprised, after all it was his day job (or at least it was...does death, however brief, nullify employment? Given Jack’s ability perhaps Torchwood had a post-death employment clause...again Ianto wouldn’t be surprised). 

Aliens. 

At the risk of taking on the popular history channel meme he’d seen floating around the internet and at one point, printed off and stuck to the Hub’s front cog wheel door by a certain snappy, deceased twice over doctor. 

Aliens. It was always aliens. 

Now that left Ianto with only a few more questions. One significantly more important than any other. Where they friendly or was he about to split open like John Hurt in the middle of dinner?  

“Mr Jones, it might be easier if you just ask out loud. I can hear you thinking.” 

Ianto held back the flinch. He hadn’t realised he wasn’t alone. Hadn’t really taken in his surroundings much to be honest, too consumed by the whole ‘ _ holy fuck I’m breathing _ ’ epiphany. Now he was focused he could hear the slight rustle of fabric, the soft breath of another living being in the vicinity... and feel the thick strong straps across his torso, stomach and thighs keeping him pinned. 

_ Great _ , Ianto thought,  _ just smashing really _ . 

He thought he recognised the voice, a little nasally, something posh and London based with a certain feminine flair to it which reminded him of lazy stereotypes seen on TV. It was definitely male though, bored and quite possibly checking his finger nails for dirt by the sound of it. So familiar...

Ianto weighed the prospect of ignoring the voice and keeping his eyes and mouth shut but decided to hell with it. Having died already, was there really anything to fear at this point? Besides, he had a gnawing feeling in his gut that couldn’t be ignored. Like a dodgy kebab on a Saturday piss up, sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to ignore it anyway so he might as well get it over with. He wasn’t where he’d died, that much was obvious. The table beneath him was skin warmed but clearly cold steel like the autopsy table in Owen’s former domain, not even a blanket to protect him from the metal. The air around him held a sterilised stale smell to it and his suit was gone, a scratchy paper thin gown in it’s place. 

Ianto had died in Jack’s arms on a cold marble floor in an equally chilled and dated war room. Far from this place. Now in an unfamiliar environment and separated from Jack, Ianto needed answers and he clearly had nothing left to lose -- not even dignity if the slight draft around his balls was anything to go by. 

He opened his eyes and was greeted with a man -- a human looking man at that. And one he’d have expected to see with such a voice. 

One he recognised instantly too. Ianto groaned and shut his eyes.

Standing over him with the same sandy brunette hair pulled over in the perfect vintage style complete with enough pomade to make it shine, was the one, the only and the absolute last person Ianto Jones wanted to see in the flesh  **ever again** ...Norton flipping Folgate. 

Like a photograph frozen in time, he still looked the same as when Ianto had dragged his projection from the past. Not a single strand of hair out of place. His face still boyish and sharp in places especially his long thin nose. His suit a tweed design, clinging to his built but thin frame. It was a tailored three piece and clearly worth enough to break most bank accounts. He wasn’t checking his finger nails for dirt but his flat brown eyes were glued lazily to a heavy looking ornate pocket watch flipped open in his hand. Checking for the time in such a way that Ianto knew he was just wasting seconds, waiting for Ianto to get to grips with the situation. 

“God not you again…” Ianto muttered and Norton’s lips twitched into a small smug smirk. 

“Well hello to you too sweetheart,” Norton greeted cheerfully. 

“Who, what, when and why?” Ianto asked dryly, not really up to playing games with Norton...again. Norton’s neatly plucked eyebrow flicked up, clearly a little reluctantly impressed that they were straight to the point. Probably more used to more emotional outbursts...that didn’t bode well. What or who had been in Ianto’s position enough times to get that response from Norton?  

“Well Who’s on first, What’s on-” Norton started and Ianto rolled his eyes with a silent curse. He was less than happy with the humour. Granted he’d have probably used it himself if similarly set-up but not right now and definitely not directed at him.  

“I could kill you and just go exploring.”

Norton eyed the straps before meeting Ianto’s eyes again with a very sarcastic condescending look, “Why yes you could darling but a smart cookie like yourself knows you won’t get far.” 

“Then should we cut the pleasantries and get straight to the point of this?” Ianto suggested. 

“Oh but I do enjoy a little foreplay,” Norton smirked, the innuendo clear. Unlike Jack’s quirked grin, Norton had the air of a mafia boss, the type of smirk that told Ianto he was being humored but he’d probably wind up with concrete shoes at the bottom of the Severn. A little dangerous and not in a good way. Just like before but  _ more _ . He hadn’t aged but Norton had clearly grown into his bad-boy role well. 

“You’re not my type Miss Wilkes,” Ianto responded dryly. Nobody had ever claimed that Torchwood employees had the best self-preservation instinct and it often proved to be an excellent way to gather information. Pissing people off did seem to get them to show their true colours after all.  

Norton hummed questioningly but Ianto didn’t elaborate on the reference. 

It wasn’t the most obscure pop culture reference but it did help solidify his earlier theory of aliens, they never did seem to get pop culture as easily as a human. Norton’s earlier humour related reference aside it was almost like he was missing a couple of decades worth of fashion sense and culture. It helped Ianto though. There was always a certain blankness aliens and time travellers had where a human would clearly be digging around their memory for the correct piece of culture and failing that, the phone would come out for that under the table search to avoid being the idiot in the room at the pub quiz. Norton hadn’t gone the long way round through history. He’d skipped bits. 

“No I suppose I’m not. Your type seems to be all flash and gung-ho, doesn’t it?” He said with a leer of a smile and Ianto felt a familiar flush under his skin, recognised again as Jack’s ‘other half’. The flush turned to something a little less like a school girls crush and into something angry though, reminded again of Jack’s absence. 

“Where’s Jack?” Ianto demanded, the threat clear in his gritted teeth. 

Norton looked bored again, he sighed. “Not here and not under our power so you can relax darling, he’s far from our reach.” The  _ for now _ sat heavy in the air, unspoken but heard all the same. 

Ianto relaxed a little despite the obvious threat, Jack was at the very least away from danger, if not completely out of the woods. Small mercies really. Though he did seem to find trouble like a magnet in an army surplus coat. Still, not a single word in that sentence put Ianto’s mind at ease in the slightest. Clearly Norton and his pals weren’t friendly.  Leaving Ianto dealing with a man who looked like an accountant who’d grown weary of misplaced inventory. Ianto didn’t think it was a good idea to be inventory but he suspected that’s how he and Jack were being viewed in this situation. 

“Why am I here?” He asked. 

“For your scintillating conversation obviously.” 

“Norton,” Ianto scolded and Norton sighed like a child told to come in for his tea when he wasn’t done playing with his friends. 

“Because my employer’s want you here,” Norton informed him, brow raising like he couldn’t understand why they wanted Ianto but what could he do. 

Something niggled at the back of Ianto’s mind. Like an alarm sounding somewhere but the reason flitted out of reach like a fish in murky water. “Your employer's?”

Norton Folgate smiled, slow and wide and  _ abnormal _ . It made Ianto’s skin crawl. This smile was empty of pleasantries or care. It was a mask like someone trying on a costume three sizes too big and not realising they had it wrong and perhaps, just not caring either way. “The Committee, of course.”

  
Ianto’s heart sank heavily into his stomach as his skin chilled.  _ Well _ , he thought,  _ fuck _ . 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've got like 4 chaps that i did over a year ago and the plot for the next 4 so here have second chapter

Tosh woke up with a surprising amount of optimism and hope for her line of work. She was expecting Owen’s hovering and quiet mutterings as he fussed over her and Jack’s typical tactile mothering as he checked her over. Neither of that was happening though.

And it wasn’t going to she realised. 

Tosh choked back a sob as she remembered the blank dead-eyed stare of the stranger in the Hub. The sharp surprising cold burn of bullets tearing through her stomach as Cardiff crumbled above them. 

She remembered the nuclear power plant going critical, Owen screaming at the injustice of it all as she bled to death,  _ alone _ , on the cold tiled floor of his domain. 

She remembered Jack... _ oh Jack _ . The sorrowful apology in his eyes for recruiting her, for showing her the vast brilliance of the universe, seducing her with the knowledge of other worlds and technology beyond her understanding... and for putting her in danger. But mostly for being unable to save her at the end of it all. The pain in his eyes as he cradled her, both of them knowing the inevitable was coming, feeling the heavy slow tick of her time running out, it had been tangible like the weight in the air of a thunderstorm coming.  

She’d wanted to tell him to stuff his apology, to push away the pain in him like an errant strand of hair tucked away lovingly behind an ear. She wanted to tell him that Torchwood was the best thing that had happened to her and she wouldn’t change it, not a single second, not a moment. But Tosh didn’t have the strength to say anything by the end, the cold creep of death pulling her under like a strong tide. 

She liked to think that Jack knew though. That he heard her silent words and accepted them, maybe not completely but Jack was always carrying the weight of the world. At least he would respect her, that he wouldn’t regret bringing her into this fantastic universe of wonder because she didn’t. Jack was good like that...but he was also bad at letting go.

So how did she survive. Had Jack done something? Was it like the glove and his desperate desire to keep them, just for a little longer?

And why wasn’t Jack there, or Gwen. Even Ianto had taken to watching over the injured, fitting it into his endless job description. Taking some of the burden from Jack just as silently and subtly as he did with most things. She doubted Jack fully realised just how often he was maneuvered into an almost normal schedule of sleep and food by Ianto. Frankly he needed it and Tosh had taken it upon herself to help Ianto ‘manage’ their fearless leader. 

But no one was with her this time and that chilled her to the bone. 

Tosh eyed the room she was confined to. Sterile, white and box like, it was too impersonal for a hospital room. It was missing the art prints and ratty blinds that were a fixture in the NHS. Absent also where the beeps and whirs of machines monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure. 

She was tied down too. 

Tosh tested the strength of her bindings, strategically placed to keep her pinned and reminding her a little of old seat belts in her mother’s car, the material scratched at her skin. It was uncomfortable, as was the metal table that acted as her bed and thin gown she’d been dressed in. 

This was no friendly environment. 

She struggled to keep calm for a moment. The instinctual fear settling on her chest, choking her. In an unfamiliar place and helpless, she felt the panic rising but Tosh was an old hand at this particular game. First with UNIT and then with Torchwood, unfamiliar and helpless was a normal occurrence and she knew she could turn the situation around. She had done in the past. Tosh could always rely on her brains to find a way out and failing that, she doubted Jack would leave one of his people behind. All she had to do was find a way out or a way to contact him. Tosh pushed aside the panic, focusing on her evolving plans. 

First up, she needed to get out of that place. There was nothing sharp on her person or the bed that could cut through the bindings so she was left with some undignified contortionist act. She wiggled and shimmied, ignoring the friction burn of her bindings rubbing at her skin as she tried to get free. After a few minutes though she gave up, with nothing to show for her energy but red raw skin. They were too tight to wiggle free from. 

With a sigh, Tosh contemplated her other options, limited as they were. She’d have to wait to be released, perhaps for a bathroom break or whatever sinister reason her captors had for resurrecting her. She shied away from those thoughts, best not to dampen morale by contemplating evil plots against her. It was never something nice but the best she could hope for was they needed her to figure out some alien tech that she could use to her advantage. 

All she could do was wait though which left her with little else to do but think.  

There weren’t any visible cameras tucked into ceiling corners and the lights were built into the solid ceiling. No tiles to count. Just a single bland door with a round knob and her make-shift bed. 

A situation like that could drive someone batty but Tosh had had enough practice with her cinder block cell courtesy of UNIT. She could pace herself, keep her mind occupied until someone came. At least her new cell was bright. The UNIT cell had been so small and so often dark, the barred window too high up to see out of. Tosh found herself trapped there in her darkest dreams, the ones that taunted her with her mother’s death and no Jack to pull strings to save her. 

She swallowed thickly and shut her eyes, ignoring the rush of chilling air that flashed through her nerves at the familiar darkness. Tosh conjured up an image of the Hub, focused on the comfy cushion of her chair and the bitter scent of coffee in the air. She listened for the water, calmly falling down the sculpture like rain on a tin roof. The comfort of home, she could lose herself in it, so she let herself fall into it. Immersed and safely tucked into her desk she recited pi to the longest number she could remember of by heart to start with. 

Tosh settled into the long wait. 

She finished with pi soon enough and moved onto an alien language she’d been working on translating, pulling up the geometric shapes and circles that made up its written form from memory. 

Before she knew it, her stomach was growling and at least a few hours had passed with her lost in her mind. How many she couldn’t be sure. Tosh never had much of a reliable internal clock.

A little dazed she came back to the harsh reality she was facing. 

Nothing had changed, the lights were the same as before and the lack of sunlight or even a clock left her wrong footed. She felt trapped in a time loop, endlessly the same and just as long. She was grateful when the door lock clunked, signalling someone unlocking it. The creeping feeling of a lifetime forgotten and alone receded but hovered in the back of her mind, a spectre of an old nightmare. 

The door opened without much flair and in walked a dapper man in a tweed suit. Not what she had expected given her surroundings. Tosh had predicted bleached white scrubs and blank eyed minions, not someone who’d look at home in an early Victorian photo with a cup of tea at their elbow. 

“Good evening Miss Sato, my apologies for the lateness of my visit. New operation and all that, we’re still working out the kinks,” He greeted, grimacing playfully at the problem like they were two strangers standing at a bus stop awkwardly commiserating over the terminal lateness of today’s public transport.

“Where am I? Who are you?” Tosh demanded sharply.

“My name is Norton Folgate and you are at our brand new facility, isn’t it shiny?” Norton said, looking around proudly, he didn’t seem bothered by her brash tone or the fact that they weren’t actually in a position for equal conversation.  

“Why am I here? Who did this to me?” 

“I believe you are  _ somewhat _ familiar with my employers. As for why, well, we like to keep a few people on hand in the event we require leverage.” Norton shrugged one shoulder.

“You mean blackmail,” Tosh clarified unnecessarily. 

Norton rolled his eyes at her judgement, “Such a horrid word. I prefer to think of it as protecting future assets.”

Tosh could care less how he viewed it, it was still blackmail. Still destroying someone's life. Holding anybody hostage for the sake of their own gain, Tosh could feel bile climbing her throat as her blood boiled. She was a pawn, probably for Torchwood. Her humanity, her worth reduced to the sentimentality of her co-workers and friends. This must have been how her mother felt, little more than a possession to be traded for something viewed as  _ more _ . Her mother was terrified but Tosh -- Tosh was livid. All those old fears, nightmares that clawed at her in the night, all of it came rushing back and Tosh wanted to punch Folgate repeatedly in the face for ever having reminded her of that time. 

“Who do you work for?” She demanded icily. 

“The Committee my dear,” Norton answered with a dangerous smirk. 

Tosh’s anger cooled instantly, a new fear and caution taking its place. It wasn’t too long ago in an impossible zone in Russia that she’d been introduced to this new (or old if some of the stories were to be believed) evil. What they did to Anna, to Maxim...all of it. “Oh god - you did - it was --”

“Yes, yes we know,” Norton said waving his hand in the air to flap away her bluster as she put together all the parts, “Don’t concern yourself with our past exploits. It’s all about the future now Miss Sato. And you are an early investment.”

Norton booped her nose like she was a child, making the hilariously out of place noise to accompany the action. 

“For what?” Tosh asked hesitantly, voice shaky. 

Norton hummed as he fished around the inside of his tweed jacket. Tosh held back a flinch, holding her ground despite the instinct to curl away from Norton. “Nothing to worry yourself over at the moment. Besides it’ll be a while before you’re needed.” 

He made a victorious noise as he pulled out a modern looking phone, a stark contrast to his dated appearance. He tapped away at the screen with one hand in a manner that proved himself more than familiar with the technology. 

“If you think I’m going to help --” Tosh started to say, chin up defiantly.

Norton tutted, chiding her like she was a toddler who didn’t know any better. “Now, now Miss Sato. Let’s not be too hasty. We can offer you a number of rewards for your compliance.”

“I’m not a trained dog.” Tosh said through gritted teeth, Norton only snorted with amusement. 

“Neither is he but he seemed to settle down once he heard about you,” He said cryptically, peeking at her from under his lashes. A tempting morsel of information designed to draw her curiosity. It was a trap she could see a mile away but couldn’t avoid. 

“Who?”

“Take a gander for yourself Miss Sato,” Norton smiled, close mouthed and holding back a chuckle. He reminded her of a cat, self satisfied after catching a mouse. 

Norton wandered closer to her bedside and held the phone out to her so she could have a good look at the screen. It wasn’t the latest model and the resolution was less than what Tosh was used to working with but the image was unmistakeable. 

She gasped. 

On the screen pacing like a caged tiger around a similar looking room with an identical white gown on was the one and only Doctor Owen James Harper. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a moment in this chap where it is mentioned about the possibility of a sexual or physical assault on a female character, it doesn't occur and there is nothing graphically stated but i figured i'd warn people just to be safe

“Should you really be eating that, we’ve got no idea what they’ve done to it,” Tosh stated, grimacing just a little as Owen shoved half a pizza slice into his mouth. He pushed the crust past his lips with greasy fingers and started chewing, making over the top humming noises of happiness as he did and Tosh rolled her eyes at him. He looked a little like a smug over-zealous chipmunk and it wasn’t as endearing to watch as he thought it was.

Still, Owen had a working digestive track now and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He held up his hand as he munched through the gobful of pizza, it took a few minutes before he could swallow without choking and even then it was a little painful but still  _ worth it _ . 

“If they wanted us dead what would be the point in poisoning us?” Owen pointed out a little patronislingly, grabbing another slice. He’d missed meat feast pizza terribly. He slumped further into his seat, splaying his legs out and letting his full stomach expand over the elastic of the scrubs.

“Mind control?” Tosh suggested unperturbed by Owen’s usual slightly snappish way of communicating as normal. Owen could admit she had a point there, albeit not out loud. 

“I’ll risk it,” Owen said taking a large bite of the slice dangling from his hand. It earned him a disapproving but not surprised look from Tosh. 

He’d missed that a little too. Missed her really. 

When he woke up the first word on his lips was her name, the foggy memory of her weakened voice in his ear pushing through everything else. Tosh was first in his thoughts before he even realised he was breathing. 

And yeah  _ that _ was a surprise. Enough of one that he’d stopped and struggled to start again, choking on air and hitching cries as he struggled against his bindings. As a darkness of his own creation curled around the corner of his gaze, nurses in stark white scrubs and surgical masks that obscured their faces rushed to his side. He was out like a light again before he could realise something wasn’t right about the set-up. 

Only later, when he woke again and significantly calmer, did he register all the things wrong with his surroundings and suddenly living again took a backseat in favour the clear and present danger. Like static in the air the primal instinct prickled at his skin, warning him. 

The suit was expected when he showed up, he reminded Owen of Ianto. Debonair and impeccable but colder and more aloof than their resident tea-boy. He was, to Owen, the embodiment of the nation's boogeyman - the Tax Man, a reviled creature there only to take and take. Norton certainly hadn’t disabused this idea, especially once he’d opened his mouth and informed Owen in a clear cheerful voice just what was in store for him. Owen had kindly told him to shove it, even directed him accordingly. He was nothing if not helpful in that regard. 

Except Norton’s pasted on smile hadn’t faded. It had only grown. 

Every alarm bell in his head had gone off but it didn’t prepare him for the move Norton played next. 

A real time video link up to Tosh’s room. 

She still hadn’t woken up but Norton assured him she would... _ unless _ of course Owen failed to play nice with the Committee. There wasn’t a guard standing menacingly over her or a machine carrying poison plugged into her veins but the threat was clear and Owen had jerked forward against the bonds, gritted teeth and clenched fists ready for a fight. Every muscle straining with a familiar brash fire pushing him forward but the anger found its source in ice cold fear. Fear for Tosh, who just wanted a date in a minging old pub with sticky floors and a pool table at a slight angle, not to be a puppet for the Committee. 

Norton had simply cleared his throat pointedly as his thumb caressed the case of his mobile, the image of Tosh sleeping unaware and helpless turning the fire into a molten weight settling heavily in his gut. Owen had held for a moment, out of pride but eventually conceded defeat and jerkingly fell back against the steel bed. Fuming but taking a little comfort in the fact that Norton had promised some alone time with Tosh, even five minutes could be enough to hatch a cunning plan. 

Seeing her again, in the flesh, slightly hesitant as she was pushed into the cafeteria like a rabbit lost in open snowy fields...well it made his new pulse skip. Something Owen wasn’t going to look to hard at. He had a new beating heart, there was bound to be a few teething problems. 

“How long do you think they’ll let us stay here?” Tosh asked quietly as though afraid if they overheard her they’d remember to waltz in and separate them. Like they weren’t already watching their every move and just waiting until they got comfortable. Owen knew they weren’t going to leave him and Tosh in the same room for long, hell their new residences were probably not even in the same wing. They were an intelligent invading species with the capability to resurrect someone, they weren’t stupid enough to leave Torchwood in one room and think nothing would happen. So long as they kept them separate they could hold them hostage against one another. Allowing just enough face time to keep the bond strong and provide proof of life. 

“Not too long I suppose...Doesn’t matter, won’t be here for long will we?” Owen said with a wink as he settled back in his chair, hands folded over his swollen stomach. 

Tosh smiled weakly, “So far I haven’t got a plan for escape. What about you?”

“First day, still getting a feel for the place.” Owen said patting his stomach as he threw his feet up onto another chair. The cafeteria was empty minus them, a vast open planned room dotted with steel tables and matching folding chairs that screeched across the floor when moved. Everything was either white or stainless steel, not a splash of colour or even a health and safety sign to break up the sterile compound they were trapped in. Owen eyed it all with a sneer, it made plotting an escape even harder when every corridor looked the same. 

“And the others? What do you think happened to them?” Tosh asked worriedly, leaning forward in her seat and checking over her shoulder as though the Committee had come in and sat down behind her without her noticing. 

“They’ll be fine Tosh,” Owen said seriously, “bet they’re already on their way here.”

“And if they aren’t?”

“Then we’ll get to them, put that energy towards escape plans instead of worrying yourself sick. Doctor’s orders.” Owen said giving her a firm look. He pushed the take-out box across the steel table to her and looked meaningfully between the cardboard box and Tosh a few times. She got the message and plucked a slice from the open pizza box. 

Tosh was more delicate and patient then Owen with her food but no less hungry. The slice didn’t last long, nor did the second. 

“Better?” Owen smirked. 

Tosh couldn’t fight the small answering smile. “A little.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the Committee,” Owen suggested. 

The smile fell away as Tosh took a second to compose herself. Owen only knew the Committee by reputation but he knew Tosh had had first hand experience with the assholes in Russia.

“Considering they bought us both back from the dead, escape may be...difficult to say the least. That kind of technological advancement --”

“How sure are we that we’re  **_us_ ** ,” Owen interrupted partially to cut Tosh off before she entered one of her, no doubt, fascinating discussions about alien tech and partially to answer a question that had begun niggling at the back of his mind now that his mind was a little clearer. He had, after all, woken with a pulse. Much as he shied away from the prospect it was a very real possibility. 

Tosh shrugged, “I’m not but we’re, at the very least, excellent copies.” 

Owen didn’t understand how she could be so calm. The idea that he  **wasn’t** who he thought he was, that he was a copy with no right to his own life, his home and his job -- it made him itch, made him angry and restless. A boiling rage cooking just beneath his skin waiting for the slightest excuse to explode. Like coming home and finding someone in your underwear sitting comfortable on your sofa, how could he not be enraged by it. And yet also knowing, if he was a copy, he was essentially the invader standing in the doorway. 

“Does it really matter?” Tosh asked quietly. 

“Of course it matters!” Owen snapped, snorting and avoiding her eyes. 

“But does it. Even if we are copies, we’re still Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato, Torchwood employees. We know what they know, every secret, every report...we can’t let the Committee have any of that.” Tosh argued in hushed tones. 

Owen fumed. She had a point, even if he was an impostor, he still had that damned sense of duty to keep the planet safe. Couldn’t very well let it fall to a megalomaniac business corporation because he couldn’t put on his big boy pants and handle this. 

“Alright then, we ignore the existential crisis for now. We still need to figure out how to get out of here,” Owen said, shuffling her along from the topic and onto something Owen could handle at the moment. He pushed himself upright again, leaning forward into Tosh’s little conspiratory bubble.

“It won’t be easy,” She reminded him. 

“When is it ever with us?” Owen winked at her. 

“Good point.” Tosh said, her lips quirking in the ghost of a smile. 

“So what do we know about these limp dicked assholes?”

“They have technology far beyond our own. In -” She paused, composing herself once again, “In Russia they made a time bomb, making an entire area uninhabitable just because they could. They ripped apart the very fabric of reality to prove a point... _ to scare us _ .”

“So they’re bullies with big sticks,” Owen summerised.

Tosh huffed on a humourless laugh, “Bigger than ours.”

“Yeah but we’ve got something they don’t,” Owen said with a cheeky smile. 

Tosh blinked owlishly at him, “Heart? Determination? The human spirit?”

Owen’s eyes shut slowly as he dug deep for strength. “Thank you Doctor Phil but no.  _ We’ve _ got Archie.”

“What can - What can Archie do?” Tosh asked, a frown furrowing her brow. The eccentric head of Torchwood Two hardly sprung to mind regarding dashing escape plans and rescue missions. Tosh didn’t look so sure about dropping Archie in their situation either but Owen figured if they had access to Tosh and Owen either for cloning or kidnapping then they certainly knew about the slightly senile technophobe who ruled the roost in Scotland. Despite being billy-no-mates in the North, even Owen couldn’t ignore the owl like guardian of most of the archives and that probably meant that even the Committee knew about him. The only hope was that Archie had managed to cover his tracks burying some of the treasure enough that the Committee hadn’t gotten their grubby mitts on anything. 

“Dig up the big sticks he’s hidden to help bust us out,” Owen said as though it was obvious. 

“I doubt Archie will break protocol for us,” Tosh pointed out. 

“He will if he’s looking down the barrel of Jack’s gun.” Owen countered. 

“Jack and Archie are old friends, he wouldn’t threaten him,” Tosh argued, insulted on Jack’s behalf. They both knew that Jack and Archie went way back, before Jack’s immortality was revealed they figured that meant they’d known one another for a decade at most. They soon realised that Jack and Archie had pretty much been there since the very beginning of Torchwood. 

“Then he’ll bribe him with a spot of tea or whiskey,” Owen said, frustration clear in his tone as he rolled his eyes at Tosh, “Either way Jack’ll convince him to dig up the big guns and come in all barrels blazing.”

Silence fell as Tosh failed to poke a hole in that particular plan. In the empty cafeteria the quiet carried a heavy weight, filling the space until Owen was clearing his throat just to break the echoing nothingness. 

“It’s a nice image,” Tosh admitted quietly with a small smile. Owen grinned. Even he could admit Jack had the comic book hero flair sometimes, breaking down walls with an alien gun nestled against his hip and a cocksure grin on his face. Owen wouldn’t mind him blowing up part of building round about then. 

“So that just leaves our plan,” Owen prompted. 

“Which is?” Tosh asked, perking up a little. 

“How likely is it we can bust out?”

“I could try but…” She shrugged tightly, almost as though afraid to break out of her own personal bubble. Meek and small as always, except this was a careful disguise just like Owen’s spreadeagled, relaxed pose earlier. A carefully constructed view to lull their captors into a false sense of security, like they could pigeon hole either of them, predict their movements. Not bloody likely. 

“Not enough time to make a work around before they caught us,” Owen finished resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned his chin on his interlocked fingers. 

“Exactly, our best bet is to get Jack a message.” Tosh muttered. Owen could almost see the cogs turning as Tosh started laying the foundation for their grand escape plan from the compound. 

“Then it’s a plan.” Owen said, clapping his hands together like a happy businessman who’d closed a difficult deal. 

“We still have the problem of being monitored twenty-four hours a day,” Tosh reminded him but Owen waved that concern away. Nothing they’d said could really give the Committee anything to use against them and Owen had faith in their abilities to communicate silently enough to make a plan out of, well, thin air.  

“True but we beat Jack and Ianto at charades two Christmases in a row, we can do this.”

“It’s a little more life and death than charades,” Tosh said, amusement bubbling in her voice as she fought a smile. 

“You shut your mouth, last year Ianto bet his coffee skills. Now  **that** was life and death,” Owen pointed a very serious finger at her and it got a giggle in response. Not a proper laugh but enough to ease the strain around her shoulders. 

Of course that’s when it had to end, they’d gotten comfortable, relaxed. They’d forgotten who they were dealing with. So naturally they had to be reminded. The door opened drawing Owen and Tosh’s gaze, the smiles falling from their lips as Norton walked in. Their time was up. 

“Cooee! Playtime's over children, time to return to your rooms,” Folgate said, his lips twitching a bland smile as he rocked on his heels. He was flanked by two barrell chested men in dark military BDU’s and tac-vests with skinned heads. They fell into parade rest a step behind Norton, their threat didn’t need vocalised. Life long bullies and Owen knew their sort all too well. As the smart skinny kid with the loud mouth on the playground, he might as well have been wearing a neon flashing sign saying pick on me for most of his school life. 

Owen rolled his eyes playfully at Tosh, getting a quick smile for his antics but the concern in her eyes for the situation didn’t fade. He understood that, Owen had seen enough woman with mascara stained cheeks and torn dresses in the ER to understand the instinctual fear Tosh was feeling now. 

His number one priority was getting between them and Tosh. She could hold her own in a fight but even Tosh had her limits. And Owen knew their kind well enough to understand that unless Folgate had a good hold on their leashes he’d have damaged leverage on his hands. Stone faced as they were you didn’t wind up so low on the totem pole with a decorated military record. Henchman like these usually came with a jacket marked ‘dishonorable discharge’. Not someone he wanted anywhere near the pretty petite genius. Owen pushed himself out of his chair with a groan, one hand on Tosh’s knee as he stood. He squeezed her knee quickly before patting her on the shoulder, the latter action just for Folgate and his goons. The first just for her...and maybe him too. A little reassurance. 

Owen rolled his shoulders back and swaggered over to the three men with a parody of a welcoming smile designed to draw their ire and attention far from Tosh.  

Norton’s grin was frozen and a touch forced. “Let’s not cause a fuss now shall we, there’ll be more playdates to schedule later on.”

“Oh but let’s,” Owen said, immediately following up his snarky retort with a punch to the nearest guard’s chin. It connected, more out of surprise rather than any skill on Owen’s part. The guard didn’t need long to recover though, swinging his own fist up into Owen’s stomach. Owen crumpled inwards, the problem with living again making itself known as he curled into himself on the floor, pain ripping through his body like an earthquake. The guard gave him one last kick, a move he’d expected along with the hiss of reprimand from Norton. The leashes weren’t as tight as the Committee probably wanted. Owen smiled to himself as he nursed his wounds, that would work in their favour down the line. 

“Up, up, up,” Norton commanded cheerily, snapping his fingers near Owen’s bowed head. Trigger happy guard one didn’t wait for Owen to move under his own power, he yanked him up painfully with each meaty hand wrapped around each of Owen’s biceps. 

Owen gave him a bloody grin, getting a wide grin in return. The guard was enjoying himself, Owen was the gift that kept on giving, a sentient punching bag with very little self-preservation instinct. Providing just enough of a challenge for the bully to feel big about himself. Owen spat in his face, a spray of blood splattering Meathead One’s craggy face. 

Owen saw the swing coming, the knuckles landing but the power lost as Owen expertly twisted away at just the right moment. He let gravity do the rest, his hands slapped against the cold linoleum floor painfully and his wrists vibrated but it was all for show. Just enough to stroke the man’s ego, goad him a little more with the taste of violence. Owen caught Tosh’s gaze, she was still perched in her chair, fists clenched around the steel back plate and fury written into every hard line of her body with just enough of a shake to offer up the fear the goons would be looking for. Playing the meek scientist to a T.

Her eyes held a hint of a question and Owen winked at her, going limp as the goon dragged him upright again, sweaty thick fingers wrapping tightly around the back of his neck. 

Norton’s calm and collected appearance was ruined by the cold anger burning in his gaze and the thin lipped sneer. He’d lost control of his pets and there would be consequences. Owen and Tosh would have to move fast to take advantage of the crack in the system Owen had pried open. 

“Take him back to his room,  _ without  _ further damage,” Norton ordered, stressing the final part  and the smug smirk on the guard’s face gave way to disappointment. Owen was glad that the order didn’t seem to include Norton tagging along. Which meant he’d be escorting Goon Two and Tosh. Good on two counts. For one it gave Owen the chance to dig a little more into Goon One’s damaged psyche. Secondly it meant Tosh wasn’t going to be left alone with Meathead Two. 

Owen gave her one last cocky wink before he was dragged away.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter there is a frank discussion about a character's history with suicide and a future attempt. nothing graphic, it doesn't happen but heads up!
> 
> also this is the last fully completed chapter soooo now they will posted as and when i complete them which will be pfft anybodies guess...

They’d given him a book.

Ianto had idly contemplated using it as a weapon but boredom was a hard thing to fight alone. Besides it wasn’t big enough to be classed as a heavy blunt object and Ianto figured by the time he could paper cut a guard to death, they’d have caught him again. 

So he read. 

It was a cheap Mills & Boons cowboy inspired romance, with a broken spine so cracked you could barely make out the title and enough dog eared pages to tell Ianto it was once a beloved bedside read. The handwritten charity shop sticker condemned it to the one pound club and the bottom right hand corner of the book was water stained from a sleepy dip into bubbly bathwater. 

The plot was predictable, the author enjoyed the word  _ ‘chiselled’  _ a little too much and the protagonist was the expected fiery redhead who’d given up on love and couldn’t ride a horse to save her life. So naturally she found her new teacher had rekindled her desire for a happily ever after. 

Ianto refused to admit he was rather enjoying it. 

He certainly wouldn’t admit to nicking a few books from Rhiannon’s Mills & Boon collection a few times growing up. If Owen had ever found out Ianto wouldn’t have heard the end of it. 

The thought made Ianto mournful. He almost wished Owen could now, just to hear Owen’s lame off-colour jokes again. 

Ianto was growing melancholy as time ticked by. It was hard to tell how many days had passed from his windowless bland cell. He was completely reliant on his captors. The clockwork timetable of food and bathroom breaks where the only break in the endless whiteout and it was impossible be sure if he was working on real time or if they’d switched up the timezone entirely, which would impede his ability to escape. 

Would the guards be working on a full night's sleep or would they be the artificially energised over-caffeinated night shift that would provide an easier target to topple? 

He couldn’t tell. The times he had rugby tackled the guard for his food he’d found them well trained, prepared and a touch too violent with their response. Something that would at least work in Ianto’s favour, if he could just get out of the room to start with. 

He wasn’t having much luck there. 

Ianto wasn’t a fighter. He could hold his own, they all could, it was the demands of the job. But Ianto had only the basic hand to hand combat skills, unlike the goon squad patrolling the Committee’s halls who - judging by stance, appearance and skill - had at least some military training if not a lot. 

The more failed attempts at escape, the more Ianto had to admit the inevitable. 

If he couldn’t even get out of the room then the only option he had was to make sure the Committee lost their leverage against Jack and Torchwood. 

The thought turned his stomach. 

Whether he was a clone or the real thing, Ianto still didn’t relish the idea of Jack finding out later down the line that a version of Ianto had offed himself in a Committee cell to protect him. God the guilt Jack would feel, he’d probably count the days between Ianto’s death and the discovery and then beat himself up over the time between. Angry at himself for not realising there was an Ianto out there who needed help. 

Ianto wished there was another option but he couldn’t be sure how long he’d last. Insanity was a very real prospect when faced with the same four walls forever. He knew he had to act while he still had the presence of mind  _ to  _ act. 

It didn’t stop him hesitating though. 

Anybody would. Ending one’s own life wasn’t an easy decision or action. 

Even less so when the desire to live was still present. 

Ianto tried escaping a few more times. Always promising himself just one more attempt. Procrastinating the final act for as long as possible. 

It reached the point where Ianto had to admit, he’d run out of ideas and was now repeating the same escape plans over and over like a radio program dedicated to a single decade of music, in enthusiastic denial of their freshness. At this rate, insanity was already beginning to settle in if he remembered the old saying, something to do with repeating the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. 

Still he hesitated just like he had that night so long ago after almost being eaten by crazy monsters,  _ human  _ monsters at that. Mandy had managed to pull him back from the brink...somewhat. But this time around he didn’t have the hopelessness that hollowed his chest out. Just a duty to do what he could to protect Jack, to protect Torchwood and the planet. 

Three more meals passed with half hearted escape attempts before Ianto decided enough was enough. He couldn’t put it off any longer. 

The lock turned over, the only signal that Ianto was about to have company and he braced himself in his usual position just opposite the door near the wall, plenty of runup. Knees bent, fists up and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet he was primed and ready for the attack. This time would be different though. He had a different goal rather than the exit. Not that they knew that. 

The door swung open, the guard presenting himself first as normal and Ianto waited for him to enter the room fully. He got the usual humouring smirk from the guard, already expecting the tackle just like last time and the time before that. The guard braced and Ianto let out a war cry rushing the man with his head down. 

His shoulder connected with the stomach area of the reinforced vest. Solid and a little painful but Ianto pushed his toes into the slippery floor for purchase as he pushed into the guard. The guard didn’t move, he wavered slightly like a tree brushed by a simple breeze but otherwise there was no give in the man’s firm footing. The guard’s arms predictably wrapped around his waist, preparing to pick him up like a child playing wrestling. 

He’d lift Ianto and throw him away from the door, just like before. 

Except Ianto’s goal wasn’t the door this time around. 

It was the gun buttoned into a holster resting on the guard’s hip. 

Ianto snapped the button open, grabbed the grip and ducked down and out of the guard’s grasp pulling the gun with him. He rolled backwards, putting a few feet between him and the guard as the man stumbled on his feet, regaining his equilibrium after being wrong footed by Ianto. 

Ianto could have gone for the door but the escort for his food had already dropped the tray, splattering mushy potatoes and gravy across the pristine floor, preparing themselves for Ianto’s next move as a shrill alarm began screeching through the corridors. 

Ianto wouldn’t get far, he argued with himself, trying to keep himself on mission. 

He raised the gun just as the guard took a jerking quick step towards him. The hammer clicked back under his thumb, echoing under the compound wide alarm. The guard drew back, arms up in a calming gesture as he eyed Ianto over the barrel fixed on him. 

Ianto’s breathing was heavy and shaky but he held his arm as steady as he could. 

Eventually the alarm cut off, leaving the echo ringing in their ears, fading away into a single note’s swan song. 

A slow clap replaced it and Ianto pulled himself together a little tighter as Norton slipped in behind the guard, shooing the rightfully nervous military man to one side to easily and confidently take command of the situation. 

“Well isn’t this is exciting,” Norton greeted him. He sounded a little put out but oddly thrilled with the development. Ianto supposed Norton had gotten a little bored with the assignment. Like owning a hamster in a way, there was only so much the creature could do before the novelty wore off. 

Ianto said nothing, he waited. A little for dramatic effect, Jack had rubbed off on him in that regard. Mostly he was just stalling the inevitable. Putting it off again, his mind whirring through the possibilities as survival warred with duty. 

“What was the plan? Hmm? Shoot your way out?” Norton asked, amusement in his tone. 

“In a way,” Ianto answered dryly with a humourless smirk. Norton’s mouth opened with another question but Ianto answered him before he could ask. 

The barrel was cold against the side of his forehead. The small ring of metal digging into his skull as he held it tightly against himself. The guard jerked forward but Norton slapped a hand against his chest to stop him. The earlier amusement gone replaced with a bored anger. Almost like Norton was upset over the potential paperwork involved in losing an asset rather than the man trying end his life with a gun directly in front of him. 

“Kudos darling,” Norton congratulated blandly. “But we brought you back before, we can do it again.”

“Maybe,” Ianto conceded, “But I think you need my mind intact at the very least.”

Norton’s poker face was exemplary. If Ianto hadn’t been looking for it, he’d have missed the subtle twitch of Norton’s eyebrow. The slight tell that only strengthened Ianto’s resolve. Ianto smiled and Norton tsked loudly. 

“Fine, fine...well then. Off you go then,” Norton sighed and Ianto faltered a little. He’d expected begging, bargaining - not weary acceptance. It put Ianto on the wrong foot, concerned with Norton’s apathy at the situation. If Ianto was leverage, why wasn’t he more worried about the suicidal nature of his pawn? It didn’t fit. 

“I will!” Ianto assured him, priming the gun awkwardly against his head. Norton continued to look like one of the summer job owning teenagers he’d seen along the pier, manning desks and counters and wishing they were anywhere but there. 

“I’ve no doubt darling but before you cause a mess and tramatise our cleaning staff, perhaps you’d like to direct your attention to the monitor.” 

A small rectangle slice of the far wall glowed into life, Ianto hadn’t even realised there was a monitor built into the wall. There was nothing to give away its presence, it almost looked like the entire wall could probably light up for a show or two, the screen was so camouflaged. It flicked onto an image of another room not dissimilar to his own, a clear picture that was so real Ianto felt like he could walk through the wall like Alice’s mirror and find himself in the mirror image of his room. Except this one was filled with the ghosts of christmas past. 

Ianto gaped openly at the image before him, his mind recognising what his eyes could see but the idea of it stumbling to a stop somewhere before it could compute. Like a derailed train, it just couldn’t get to its destination.  

“Can’t be…” Ianto mumbled in shock, the gun falling away from his temple, his arm hanging limply at his side. 

“We caught you didn’t we, is it so hard to believe we got them too?” Norton asked smugly, his gaze following as Ianto stumbled closer to the screen.

“But - But it can’t be!” Ianto denied. But there they were. Impossible but  _ there _ .

Tosh and Owen sitting side by side under guard in a room somewhere in the same building as him.  **Alive** . 

“But it is Mr Jones,” Norton replied, rolling his eyes as he shared an amused look with the guard. Having fun at Ianto’s expense. 

His anger boiled like a volcano, bubbling up and up as it began to settle in his mind that Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper were alive and prisoners like him in the Committee’s grasp. His shaking fingers curled slowly into a painfully tight fist, the grip of the gun in his other hand biting into his skin. Rage coursing through him like a storm at sea, whipping up the surf into a furious crash as he realised something else, something far more sickening. How long had Norton been waiting to play this card? Everything up until then had been a ploy, a maze to traverse where Ianto was the lab rat being led by the nose to wherever the Committee deemed fit to drop the cheese. 

What was worse than the isolation Ianto had suffered for the amusement of the Committee was realising slowly that in the nearly two years while the team had grieved, Owen and Tosh had been trapped,  _ forgotten _ , here. Ianto’s jaw clenched so tight he felt like his teeth might crack. He wanted to empty the clip into Norton’s head, to unleash his rage that his friends,  **his family** , had been tortured, had been kept from him. He wanted to kill Norton, duty be damned. 

He wanted that more than he’d wanted anything, even when he’d let the Savior toss Jack into a literal hellscape of a planet he hadn’t hated Jack as much as he hated Norton now. With Jack he’d always known, logically and in some small way, that Jack had meant well. There wasn’t really an easy way to say your girlfriend had died months back and the monster wearing her face could take over the planet and destroy the human race. There wasn’t even a hallmark card that came remotely close. 

But  _ Norton _ .  _ The Committee _ . There was no good intention behind this. It was a business transaction. One thing for another. Impersonal and sinister, it was pure malice. The Committee clearly thought of them like play things, just ants scurrying around a hill and they were the kid with the magnifying glass, they didn’t seem to think humans were worth anything more than their amusement or disdain. Ianto was disgusted and angry. How could sentient creatures treat others with so little care? Was this really what the Universe held? Was it really so cold?

Ianto pulled the anger back, just enough to remove the haze descending over his eyes. Killing Norton could come later. First he had to find Tosh and Owen. United they stood a better chance of escaping this hell. 

“Where are they?!” Ianto demanded sharply, the gun swinging around until the barrel was trained on Norton, aimed directly between his eyes. Norton watched him seemingly unaffected by the danger the angry, armed Torchwood agent posed to him. 

“A please wouldn’t go amiss,” Norton drawled.

Ianto didn’t miss a beat, he aimed just over Norton’s shoulder and fired. The shot cracked through the silence, the bullet snapping through the wall revealing peach coloured plaster. A welcome reprieve from the endless starch white. The guard flinched, hand going to his empty holster. Norton’s ear was red, a close graze that would have terrified a normal person.

Norton didn’t even flinch. 

He just waited, as though he expected Ianto to say the magic word. 

Ianto eyed him suspiciously. The only time he could remember when he was faced with such a blasé view on a situation was with the cannibals in  Brecon Beacons . They wore confidence like a comfy old coat, so sure that they were above the law, above reproach and untouchable. That even if an army came to their door they could defeat it. In the end it wasn’t an army but a pissed off Captain and a tractor that had brought them down. Ianto didn’t think Norton’s confidence was as misplaced. A scratch low in his gut kept whispering to him that he was missing something, something important. Something that could get them all killed. 

He had a feeling that even if he shot Norton and the guard, even if he scoured the entire compound and put down every Committee lap dog he came across - that he still wouldn’t find Owen and Tosh on his own. 

Ianto swallowed thickly but didn’t lower his gun. 

“Please,” Ianto spat out darkly. 

And Norton smiled, slow and a touch too wide because he knew...he knew he’d won.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://alineppenhallow.tumblr.com) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alineppenhallow)  
> 


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